


If Wishes Were Canines

by groundyonly



Category: Boston Legal
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2012-08-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundyonly/pseuds/groundyonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend of Denny's comes to Crane, Poole & Schmidt for some help, and Alan is disproportionally disturbed by a court-appointed case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alan Shore was heading down the hallway of the law offices of Crane, Poole and Schmidt, Boston, when he was called into the office of his best friend and senior partner, Denny Crane. “Alan! Come on in; I want you to meet someone.”

 

The forty-something lawyer paused in his step and complied. “Good morning, Denny,” he said.

 

“Alan, this is Lorelei Medeiros,” Denny said, indicating the stunning woman sitting across from him. “I used to shoot with her husband Manny at Walnut Hill. Lorelei—Alan Shore.”

 

Alan offered a closed-mouth smile as his eyes studied her olive skin, her dark eyes, her glorious mane of dark hair. She was younger than Denny; about his own age, if he was reading her right. And she was beautiful, but not in the hooker way that so many of Denny’s female friends were.   
More in the genuine way that made Alan himself take notice. “How do you do?” he asked, extending his hand.

 

“Lovely to meet you,” Lorelei answered, placing her hand in his. “Denny’s told me so much about you.”

 

“Already?” Alan asked, glancing toward his friend.

 

Lorelei smiled, gave the tiniest laugh. “Well, mainly about your field trip to the rifle range.”

 

“Ah.” Alan savored the feeling of her smooth skin against his, then released her hand. “Not my best work, I’m afraid.”

 

“Well, shooting isn’t for everyone,” she said kindly.

 

“Alan’s… _soft_ about guns,” Denny piped up. “He’s a Democrat.”

 

Alan looked more pointedly at Denny. “I’ve just been on the wrong end of too many barrels to appreciate them the way Denny does,” he said.

 

“Lorelei’s here to sort out some issues with Manny’s estate. He passed away earlier this year—heart attack. Only fifty years old. Tragic.”

 

Alan looked back at Lorelei. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly. 

 

She smiled back at him. Her eyes held him fast; Alan couldn’t read them. “Thank you,” she said.

 

“I’m taking her out for lunch today. Thought you might want to come along. If you hear us talking about guns and shooting, you might learn something.”

 

Alan broke eye contact. “I have an appointment at lunch time today, Denny; I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you.” He looked back at Lorelei. “But I’m sure I’ll be able to… learn from you… another time.”

 

Lorelei lowered her eyes and smiled. “Denny’s so pro-gun, it makes Charlton Heston look like a mama’s boy.”

 

Alan grinned in delight.

 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Shore; guns aren’t for everyone. They weren’t my ‘thing’ either, but Manny adored them. A good thing, too, I suppose,” she said, “or we wouldn’t have met Denny. And Denny is definitely a keeper.”

 

Alan nodded. “That he is,” he agreed. “Denny, I have to prepare for court this morning; I’ll meet up with you later. Lorelei,” he said, “I hope we see each other again.”

 

“Thank you, Mr. Shore.”

 

“Please: Alan. Any friend of Denny is a friend of mine.”

 

“Only if I let you,” Denny put in.

 

Alan smiled again. This Lorelei made Denny feel good. He approved. “Of course, Denny.”

 

“Thank you, _Alan_ ,” Lorelei amended. 

 

Alan nodded and made his exit. As he headed back down the hall he was joined by another name partner, Shirley Schmidt. “Alan, just the man I was looking for.”

 

“Shirley, I’ve longed to hear you say that, but I’ve promised Denny you’re off limits.”

 

“I’m sure somewhere in your world that statement has meaning. I’m happy to see you because I have something that needs just your kind of touch.” Alan opened his mouth. “Don’t say it. I mean it needs your brand of forcefulness.” Alan just looked at her as they reached the kitchen. “Again, a poor choice of words. Alan, I’m assigning you a case because I can.”

 

“Shirley, you take all the fun out of our little  _ tête a  _ _ tête s _ .”

 

“I’m known for that,” she said, heading to the coffee.

 

“What do you need me to do?” he asked as he reached for a bottle of orange juice.

 

“I need you to help a dog.”

 

Alan laughed lightly. “What?”

 

“We’ve been assigned a case by the courts and I want you to handle it. A family is in violation of the city’s laws regarding pit bulls, and you need to defend them.”

 

Alan’s light mood dropped. “Pit bulls?” he repeated.

 

“Yes. This family wants to bring their dog to obedience training in the Common, but to do so they have to have the dog in a muzzle and that inhibits the training, since it’s usually enforced with food. They were fined but they’re appealing and they need you to stand up for them.”

 

“Pit bulls,” Alan said again flatly.

 

Shirley pulled milk from the refrigerator to pour into the now-steaming cup. “I’m sensing reticence on your part,” she said.

 

“Well, can’t Clarence, or Jerry—?”

 

“Beneath you, Alan?”

 

“No,” Alan denied forcefully. “It’s just that…”

 

“Just that _what_?” Shirley asked.

 

Alan changed tack. “Shirley, you’ve known me for more than three years now. I can’t imagine that you’d have missed my many… quirks and eccentricities,” Alan began.

 

“Makes you fit right in here,” she countered.

 

“Dogs are… something I’m reluctant to get close to.”

 

“The dog won’t be wearing a clown suit.” Alan didn’t answer. “I’m sorry. That was probably unfair. Alan, are you afraid of dogs?”

 

“Not… really…” he replied. “I just…” He stopped.

 

“Alan,” Shirley said, “dogs are like lawyers. They sense fear. Go in like a strong lawyer and you’ll be fine.” No positive response. “Really.” Nothing. “Be a good boy and I’ll give you some kibble.”

 

“Usually, a dog wants a bone,” Alan replied glibly.

 

“I’m not helping you with that one,” Shirley answered. “I’ll get you the file this morning.”

 

“Party pooper.”

 

 

* BL * BL * BL *

 

 

“A dog?”Denny questioned Alan later that day.

 

“A pit bull,” Alan clarified.

 

“A pit bull is a dog, right?” Denny said.

 

“Of course it is, Denny,” Alan answered, sitting across from Denny on the name partner’s sofa in his office.

 

“And you’re afraid of dogs?”

 

Alan shrugged. “Not so much afraid, as…”

 

Denny shook his head. “Dogs are supposed to be one of the joys of childhood!” he observed.“They’re _great_ , Alan! They worship the ground you walk on, they never talk back, they hunt with you, they follow you to the ends of the earth…. Didn’t your family ever have a dog?”

 

“Once, when I was… little,” Alan said uncomfortably.

 

“Well, didn’t you like it?” Denny probed.

 

“I really can’t remember,” Alan said evasively. “And anyway, Denny, this isn’t just any dog; it’s a pit bull.”

 

“A dog is a dog,” Denny said dismissively. “A dog is only as good or nasty as its owner.”

 

“I have to meet these people this afternoon. I’m going out to their home, so I can observe the animal in its natural environment. Will you come with me?”

 

Denny looked at his friend for a moment, trying to comprehend yet another of his insecurities. “Sure,” he said finally. “Why not?” Then, sensing Alan’s increasing discomfort, he changed the subject. “So, what did you think of Lorelei?”

 

Alan was relieved to fall into step. “She seems to make you happy, Denny. For that, I like her already.”

 

“She’s beautiful, intelligent, everything I love in a woman. Always was. Sexy.”

 

“I thought you also loved them _promiscuous_ ,” Alan noted.

 

“That, too.” Denny nodded. “I wanted her for twenty years.”

 

“Have you slept with her, Denny?” Alan asked.

 

The senior partner frowned and shook his head. “She was a good Catholic girl,” he complained. “She wouldn’t do a thing while she was married to Manny.”

 

“There’s no accounting for some people’s morals,” Alan deadpanned.

 

“I can’t understand how she could always _resist_ ,” Denny wondered. “A will of iron. But she always wanted me. And now, she’s ready.”

 

Alan’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Did she _say_ that, Denny?”

 

“Manny was a son of a bitch. She wasn’t in love with him. _Had_ to be me. I’m the first person she came to after he died six months ago. I’m the person she came to today. She’s telling me loud and clear, _now,_ ” Denny said, waving away the question. Then he suddenly focused intently on his friend. “Do _you_ want to sleep with her, Alan?”

 

Alan just blinked. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

 

Denny smiled a sly grin. “You’re slipping.”

 

“Denny, I only met her this morning.”

 

“See what I mean? If you were Denny Crane, you’d have had your hand up her skirt by now,” he said proudly.

 

“I’ll never be as quick as you,” Alan lamented, not quite serious.

 

“Six months, Alan. It’s been six months. She’ll be ready to make her move soon.”

 

“On _you_ ,” Alan added skeptically.

 

“Of course!” Denny declared, not offended. “We’re having dinner tomorrow night. Come with us. I want you to get to know her.”

 

“I’d be delighted.”

 

“Good. But don’t touch her. She’s mine.”

 

“Dibs again, Denny?”

 

“You bet your ass, dibs,” Denny answered. “Come get me when you’re ready to go see this dog.”


	2. Chapter 2

Alan tried to hide his growing anxiety with a ready smile when someone answered his knock on the door of the large but rundown colonial-style home. “Hello!” he greeted the thirtyish woman who now faced him and Denny, who was standing very close to him—almost, Alan thought, as though to stop him from turning and running away. “I’m Alan Shore. This is my colleague, Denny Crane, from Crane, Poole and Schmidt. Are you Anne Marie Belmarce?”

 

“Yes,” the woman answered. She brushed back a wisp of errant light brown hair and smoothed down her shirt. “You’re the lawyers?”

 

Alan nodded. “Yes. You have a… problem with a dog?”

 

Anne Marie offered a small smile and opened the door wide enough to let the visitors in. “We do. Please, come in.”

 

She led Alan and Denny down a hallway cluttered with children’s shoes, various skateboards and balls. Alan noticed a couple of well-chewed dog toys and felt his anxiety level rise, something that must have been noticed by Denny, who just briefly lay his hand on Alan’s back as they continued into a living room. Alan noticed that the room was clean and furnished with a neat but clearly not expensive setting. Again, he felt his chest tighten when he noticed a large dog bed near an old television in the corner.

 

Anne Marie gestured for them to be seated on the sofa. “She’s a looker!” Denny muttered softly to Alan as they sat down. 

 

Anne Marie sat in an arm chair across from them. “I’m sorry, I know this sounds silly…” Alan tried to smile encouragingly. “It’s just… well, we don’t have a lot of money, Mr. Shore, and lessons on the Common are only ten dollars apiece. We love our dogs and I want the kids to have the experience of looking after an animal… but I can’t afford private lessons and they won’t let us attend the ones on the Common unless Sir Lancelot is muzzled.”

 

“Sir Lancelot?” Denny piped up.

 

“Out pittie,” Anne Marie explained. “You know, from King Arthur and all that. My daughter said he was going to be noble and handsome, so we named him that.”

 

Alan nodded slightly, tried to smile. “But surely, Anne Marie, you know that the city has pit bull regulations.If Sir Lancelot were a dachshund, you wouldn’t be facing this problem.”

 

“I know. But it’s not right!” Anne Marie burst. “Pit bulls aren’t dangerous when they’re owned by the right people. They’re beautiful animals!”

 

“See?” Denny said. “Beautiful _and_ smart.”

 

Alan shot his friend a sideways look. “Nevertheless,” he said to Anne Marie, “the ordinance clearly states that pit bulls need to be muzzled if they are outside their own yard. There’s going to need to be a very good argument as to why _yours_ shouldn’t be. And that probably includes understanding why you didn’t choose to get a different breed of dog.”

 

Anne Marie bit her bottom lip. “Sir Lancelot was going to be put down, Mr. Shore,” she said. “He was in the pound and he was out of time, and I couldn’t let that happen. Plus the kids loved him.”

 

As if on cue, the sound of children’s voices and giggling came floating into the room, followed by a slamming door and a scramble of footsteps. A few seconds later, a little boy, probably around seven years old, came bounding into the room. “Hi, Mommy!”

 

Anne Marie took the child in her arms and smiled. “Hello, angel. How was your day?”

 

The little boy crawled up onto his mother’s lap. “Good, Mommy!” He gave Anne Marie a kiss. “Veronica’s still cleaning her shoes. She stepped in dog poo on the way home.” He giggled again.

 

Anne Marie looked at Denny and Alan. “This is Jonathan,” she introduced the child. “Jonathan, this is Mr. Shore and Mr. Crane. They’re here to talk about Sir Lancelot.”

 

Jonathan’s face quickly turned cranky. “He won’t wear your dumb old muzzle,” he declared. “I can’t give him treats when you make him wear it.”

 

Anne Marie immediately drew her son into line. “Jonathan, you’re being rude. And Mr. Shore and Mr. Crane are here to help us see if we can get the training people to let Sir Lancelot go to school _without_ the muzzle.” 

 

“Oh. Sorry,” the boy said offhandedly.

 

Denny nodded. Alan smiled at the child. “Do you spend a lot of time with Sir Lancelot, Jonathan?” he asked.

 

Jonathan smiled and nodded. “He’s so beautiful. They were going to make him go to sleep forever. Mommy said we could save him.”

 

Alan opened his mouth to answer when a girl a bit older than Jonathan came bounding into the room and a mid-sized dog, clearly not a pit bull, came running in after him. For a moment he couldn’t breathe as his eyes locked on the canine which at first concentrated on its family, then turned its attention to him and Denny. Alan’s throat tightened, and the words he had planned to say got caught in his throat. 

 

“Easy, man, easy,” murmured Denny, patting Alan’s knee as the dog approached. “And don’t stare like that—they take that as a threat.”

 

Alan immediately raised his head so he was looking at the ceiling, his body stiff and unmoving. Denny sighed and shook his head, then held his hand out and motioned to get the dog to come to him. “You’re Veronica, right?” he said to the girl as the dog moved in and sniffed.

 

“Yes,” the girl answered.

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Nine.”

 

“Tell me about your dog here.”

 

“This is Guinevere. She’s a husky cross.”

 

The dog seemed to settle in and Denny rubbed her back roughly. “Guinevere. As in, Camelot?”

 

“That’s right!” Jonathan exclaimed.

 

“She’s beautiful. What’s she crossed with?”

 

Veronica shrugged. “Nobody knows. We got her at the shelter. She was really hard to train because huskies are stubborn. But the other dogs in her must have been easier because now she’s really great. Wanna see?”

 

“Sure!” Denny looked at Alan, who was still studiously avoiding making any visual contact with the dog. Guinevere was sniffing at his leg, and his hand, which Alan kept stock still on his knee, as though afraid to draw it back. “Alan. Touch the dog.”

 

“I’m fine, Denny,” Alan answered, lowering his head stiffly but still not looking.

 

“Alan. _Touch the dog._ She’s showing you it’s okay,” Denny insisted. 

 

“She’s friendly, Mister,” Jonathan said to Alan. “And she loves to play ball! Don’tcha, girl?”

 

The dog let out one shrill bark. Alan jumped and yanked his hands back further into his lap. His eyes involuntarily went to the dog. He looked away just as quickly, then forced himself to slowly lower his eyes to Guinevere’s back, never once letting his eyes near her face. 

 

“You should see this dog in action, Alan,” advised Denny. “It could help your case. Huskies are hard to train. If this one’s good…”

 

“C’mon outside!” Veronica urged. “You can meet Sir Lancelot, too!”

 

Denny stood up. Alan reluctantly followed. “Come on, man; they’re shorter than you are. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

 

“I’m not scared, Denny.”

 

Alan watched as Guinevere bounded ahead of Jonathan and Veronica into the hallway. Anne Marie smiled and gestured for him and Denny to follow, leaving her to bring up the rear. Denny gently pushed Alan in front of him, and Alan, looking warily around the hall to the back of the house, followed, freezing when he reached a coat rack right inside the door. “Come on,” Denny urged. “You’re nearly there!”

 

Alan swallowed gamely and forged ahead as the young boy and his sister ran outside, and the dog started running around, only to be joined by a smaller, caramel-colored dog. 

 

“Sir Lancelot, I presume,” Denny said with a smile, leaning down as the dog ran toward them. The canine pranced around Denny’s feet, wagging its tail and sniffing happily. Denny lowered his hand for the animal to smell, then gave the dog a friendly slap on its side. “He’s a beauty,” Denny said to Anne Marie. “Alan,” he said, looking at his companion, who was merely standing still, watching the children run around, “take a look at this beautiful animal. Isn’t he stupendous?” 

 

Alan dropped his eyes to the dog for a few seconds, then looked back at the children frolicking, all the while trying to keep track of the location of both dogs without actually making eye contact. “He’s terrific,” Alan said. His jaw muscles tightened as Sir Lancelot started making circles around him, and burst into speech as the dog pawed at his leg.

 

“Why don’t you show me—” he blurted out.

 

“Sir Lancelot! Down!” Anne Marie scolded, as Alan stiffened. She pulled the dog away by the collar and Jonathan came over to distract the animal and play with him. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Shore,” she said, embarrassed.

 

“That’s all right,” Alan said, his voice strained. “This is about a struggle to get him trained—if he was already a perfect gentleman, we wouldn’t be here.”

 

“You’re very kind,” Anne Marie said.

 

Alan managed a weak smile. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “So, show me how well Guinevere is trained.”

 

“I’ll let Veronica show you; she’s Veronica’s dog.”

 

“Fine.”

 

Anne Marie called her daughter over and asked her to take Guinevere through some basic commands. At the little girl’s bidding—sometimes spoken, sometimes just hand signals—the dog sat, stayed, heeled, came, rolled over, gave a paw, fetched, and ignored the distraction of Sir Lancelot playing happily around her and trying to persuade her to run and play.

 

Denny smiled. “A smart animal,” he said. “Veronica’s right; huskies can be quite stubborn. You’ve done a great job with her.”

 

“We’d like to do the same with Sir Lancelot,” Anne Marie said. “Take her to the same place, work with the same trainers. You can see we put in the time, but we need help.”

 

“How much training does Sir Lancelot have?” Alan asked.

 

“Very little. We’ve tried some of the techniques here, but realistically, he needs to learn with other dogs. It would help him to learn to ignore distractions, the way Guinevere does, and to socialize him, to make him a good canine citizen. Let me show you what he can do so far. He’s Jonathan’s dog most of all; I want him to train him.”

 

Anne Marie called her son over and asked him to run through the few things that Sir Lancelot had learned. At first, the dog paid him little attention, distracted by the visitors and Guinevere. Then Anne Marie put Guinevere inside the house and brought out some treats, and suddenly the pit bull was all attention. He sat when prompted, stayed when gently reminded, and was rewarded with a big treat when he came on command. The dog munched happily on the snacks while Jonathan hugged him. 

 

Alan watched all of this with his arms crossed, while Denny watched Alan, the younger man’s face unreadable to him. “You can see why Sir Lancelot needs to be without a muzzle,” Anne Marie said to them. “He is a food-driven dog. Most dogs are motivated by treats. He needs to be able to learn and socialize.”

 

“Sure he does!” Denny agreed. Guinevere was let out as Denny whistled and the dogs came running back to him. “Dogs love me,” he explained to Alan and Anne Marie. 

 

Alan fidgeted uncomfortably as Denny roughhoused with the dogs. Anne Marie noticed and reached down to disburse the animals when Sir Lancelot bounced up happily toward Alan’s face. “Lance!” she squeaked, as Alan jerked his arms back and turned his head away. She beckoned to Jonathan to remove the dog, then turned back to Alan. “Again… I am _so_ sorry,” she said. “Oh—he got mud on your pants.”

 

Alan offered a weak smile. “No, no—that’s all right,” he said. He looked at Denny, who frowned in concern at the younger man’s suddenly white face. 

 

“I’ll get them dry cleaned for you; I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Shore,” Anne Marie continued.

 

“Never mind; it’s fine,” Alan said vehemently. He took a deep breath. “I’ve seen enough,” he announced. Then he turned on his heel and went back inside the house.

 

“Mr. Shore?” Anne Marie called, looking at Denny. He just shrugged and the two of them followed him, Anne Marie trying to defend her dog. “Mr. Shore, I’m very sorry. Please don’t let this color your judgment of Sir Lancelot. He really is a gentle animal. He was just happy.”

Alan stopped short and looked intently at Anne Marie. “You’re in court on Friday. Be ready.”

 

Then without waiting for Denny to comment, he headed out to the car.

 

 

* BL * BL * BL *

 

“I’ve decided that you can have Lorelei,” Denny announced the next morning as he and Alan sat having coffee in his office.

 

Alan nearly choked on his drink. “Really?” he asked. “What about dibs?”

 

Denny waved his cruller carelessly. “I take it back. She’s not my type.”

 

Alan’s eyes narrowed. “Did she turn you down, Denny?”

 

“No!” Denny protested, a little too quickly to Alan. “It just feels funny, that’s all. It doesn’t feel right. Manny was my friend.”

 

“That’s never stopped you before,” Alan reminded him.

 

“I know, but… there’s something different about Lorelei. She’s…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Well… she’s more like you.”

 

Alan pursed his lips. “Meaning?”

 

“Well, she’s…” He waved the cruller in the air again. “…She’s closed off. She has… issues with relationships. She’s damaged. I think you’d get along with her better.”

 

“Denny, that hurts me,” Alan said.

 

Denny looked wide-eyed at his friend. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, Alan,” he said. “I just think you’re better at handling dysfunctional people.”

 

“I’ll find my own dysfunctional relationships, thank you,” Alan said tartly.

 

“She’s a nice girl,” Denny offered hopefully.

 

“She seems so,” Alan answered, still irritated.

 

“I’m sorry, Alan,” Denny said earnestly. “I really am. I like Lorelei. I just think we’re not suited for each other.”

 

“And she turned you down,” Alan guessed, although it wasn’t really a guess at all.

 

“Yeah, she did.” Denny munched on his donut thoughtfully as Alan stood up to head back to his office. “You still up for dinner tonight?”

 

“I guess so. If you don’t mind eating with _two_ dysfunctional people.”

 

Denny sighed. “If _you_ don’t mind eating with two dysfunctional people, why should I?”

 

Alan shook his head, but accepted the olive branch, and agreed.


End file.
